Spite
by PetPetAngel
Summary: She had killed her husband out of love, not out of spite or anger. A series of oneshots detailing the rise and fall of the Red Queen and her right hand man. Stayne x Iracebeth
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I saw Alice in Wonderland two weeks ago and I really adored the movie: the CGing, the characters, the plot, the interaction. However, the greatest amount of my love was directed at Stayne and Iracebeth. I thought that there was a real chemistry between them, not solely sexual, but rather like a itension/i that was always there. Everything they did was done for a reason, and the actors played off of each other beautifully.

I loved them so much that I started this; a series of oneshots, sometimes consecutive with the ones before it, sometimes not (I will inform you beforehand). Each is a snapshot into Stayne and Iracebeth's relationship that captures how it changed over time. These will all be relatively short, under 2 pages each, likely, but over time, they will create quite the story I hope. No spoilers in this chapter, but as the story expands, it will likely play up until the end of the movie. So... Clearly, there will be spoilers there.

Anyway, on with the fic!

-

She had not killed him out of spite or of anger but out of love.

She had killed him to save face, because she loved another and yet never loved anyone more than he. Her husband was a wonderful man––the best man, and yet she knew that in recent months, he had been turning away from her. And she from him.

For many years that had loved one another, even when it had not been considered proper. Deeply and truly, the world be damned. Her husband had eyes for no one other than her, and he dedicated every fiber of his being to her and loved her passionately. Then, he had met Mirana.

She killed him not out of spite or anger, but because she could have never lived knowing that he knew her true self, that she was mean and bitter and angry, even to those she loved.

Everything changed. She supposed that she had hated him for a time for his misdeed. A long time, even. How could he, who had once be so devoted to her, have betrayed her? And for such a poor choice.

Admittedly, obviously, no choice would have made the act justified. But her sister was the worst, and the least forgivable choice of all. All her life, Mirana had been chosen first. And why? She was a better queen, and a better woman, than Mirana could have ever been.

She thought that maybe her voice had shook as she asked her husband where his loyalty lied. "With you, my love," he said in a deep, affectionate voice. The voice he used to placate her, to console her, to silence her worries. A voice she had once loved, that she thought was only for her but that now she could only think of being used to speak with her sister.

Now, his heart wasn't in it. She saw and he knew that she saw. The whole mood in the room changed.

"Iracebeth," he pleaded. "Do not do this. We can discuss this."

"I have done nothing to deserve this! We are discussing this now, and you are making quite the show of yourself. You have _betrayed_ me, _my love_." The words were sarcastic and cruel and she cursed him to hell a million different ways.

"My heart is yours only," he persisted, face aghast at her suggestion. Iracebeth's heart burned with pain and lost love. He had been only hers once, and now he was Mirana's. Everything that was good in her life always went to Mirana.

She pulled in on herself at the lies and wrapped her arms around herself. She realized that she was her only comfort, that she would always be the only one for herself. She asked herself, if I am not for myself, then who is for me?

"I will suffer this no longer! I have loved you too fully, and for what?"

"Iracebeth, please. I have eyes for only you!" Her husband was growing desperate now.

"But a heart only for Mirana."

She was so bitter and so angry that for a moment she couldn't speak. The truth of the words hit her for the first time, and their weight crushed her heart until it was like jagged glass in her chest. It was too much to bear, but she would heal. Her anger would help her heal.

"Please, Iracebeth...." His voice was a meager hope now. He knew the impossibility of her mercy.

She felt her strength fading from her so she called, "Guards! Guards!" The name slipped out unbidden, "Stayne!"

A rusted blade twisted in her heart as they came in to seize her husband. He looked at her with such a look of epiphany and understanding, like he understood things that she had yet to realize. It seemed possible, but she turned her face away as he screamed, "You have always only been for yourself!"

The confidence she had once found so alluring now infuriated her. She wanted to kill him. _I loved you, you bastard._

He tried to lunge at Stayne, and Iracebeth understood what her husband saw in her remark. She didn't want him to think that she had done this only to be with Stayne, which was honestly ridiculous, but she had to allow it. He would suffer more, but then she thought, _No, I will kill him out of love, so that he will never know my true face. _

Stayne ignored her husband and knelt before her. "My Queen?"

The fact he addressed her before her husband, despite the fact he was king, made her heart swell pleasantly. She ignored the sensation just as she ignored her pity for the man she had once loved, who had once been so completely hers.

She didn't understand why they always picked Mirana, why they always loved Mirana. She had loved him because she loved him in earnest, but also because she thought he would always be hers.

_Why did you betray me, dear heart?_ She shook her head to clear it and to cease her fond thoughts of him.

"Take him to the dungeons," she said dejectedly, waving them all away. She had to be alone now, before she broke down and lost her will to kill him. Before she showed her husband her true face.

They took her husband just as she commanded–and Iracebeth had never hated herself so much.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** A continuation of the last chapter.

Iracebeth takes personal revenge on her husband. Also, just a warning. Next chapter is a bit of tearjerker. I almost made one of my real life friends cry reading it. So. Yes. Tissues for the next chapter. Hydrogen peroxide for this one, haha.

Summary: She's casually sorry it had to end like this, but then she forgot.

-

She sneaked down swiftly and easily into the dungeons, knowing where her target would be and readying herself to dish out the appropriate punishment. She had recollected herself, drawn back the anger that she had lost in their rooms. She was ready to kill him now.

The Red Queen in the dungeons was really quite a sight, so it was no surprise that the guard seemed shocked to see her. "Your Majesty!" he said, aghast and humbled before her. He bowed low; out of fear of love, she wasn't certain. But it didn't really matter.

"Stay," she commanded haughtily, the raising of her hand enough to cease his nervous ministrations. He backed away from her and she walked past all the cells of piteous creatures, most tortured, some dead. She was blind to them now. A hand reached out for her and she brushed it away.

"You Murderer!" one distinct voice cried from far back.

Her nostrils flared, her face coloring, and she _almost_ turned with a cry of anger, but she stopped herself. No. No. Her anger was meant for worse people than some rabble scum. She moved on with purpose, purposefully standing straighter to let them all know,_ I'm better than you are._ It was childish, perhaps, but it made her feel better.

Finally she approached the right cell. Her husband, once proud man, was huddled deep in the corner, pulled deep within himself. He was obviously trying to block the world out and for a moment she felt some pity for him. _No. He betrayed you. He loves her more than you. _

Maybe what she was doing was wrong, but she was so spiteful and angry and _unloved_ that she couldn't stop herself now if she wanted to. And she didn't want to.

"My _looove_," she said in a sickly sweet voice.

Her husband's head jerked up to look at her. Immediately, he flung himself at her, reaching for her through the bars. She stood just at of his reach, smiling at him condescendingly. The dirt on his face, and the bruise on the high cheekbone gave her intense pleasure.

She took the rusted key to the cell from her bosom and opened the door before closing it behind her. With all the moans of pain around her, no one would second guess one more scream joining the bunch.

He looked at her with a look that begged for mercy. "Please, don't do this," he tried in a last ditch effort to save himself. She felt disgusted by him.

She slapped him hard across the face, her anger getting the best of her. She wasn't in the mood to play around anymore. He looked at her, shocked and amazed, before his own face darkened with anger.

"You–––"

She slapped him again before finally her rant broke free. She had thought about the words on her way down. "You betrayed me, you low down good for nothing scum!" She pushed him forcibly back and he fell, surprised by the harsh words.

She kicked him in the face and stepped on the side of his head. The heel of her boot dug into his temple. "You will pay for what you did to me, you pig! After all that I did for you, and I all that I coddled and adored, and this is how you repay me?!" She pushed her foot harder against his face, forcing it into the mud and filth of the floor.

She leaned down to his level and whispered darkly in his ear, "You should have known what happen to people who double cross me. Should have known that you were no different. You were never special enough to be spared, you son of a son of a traitor. That's all you ever were! A liar and a cheat!" and she spat in his face.

She straightened quickly. "Stand up, you bastard!" she commanded in a shrill voice.

"So you can push me back down?" her husband offered in a final show of defiance. "I don't think so, _whore._"

She brought her foot down so sharply against his ribs that she was certain that the _crack_ she heard was the satisfying sound of his ribs breaking. He might have been a wonderful man once, but now he was hers to degrade and punish.

He flailed a little and his breath came in short painful gasps. "I said _stand_, you _fool_!"

He struggled uneasily to his feet, but managed to compose his face into a semblance of anger by the time he looked at her again. It was unladylike, but she punched him square in the jaw just to wipe the expression off his face.

"Ass!" she yelled, forcing him against the wall and pulling her dagger from her corset. Her knee was poised to kick him in the groin if necessary, but he didn't struggle._ You bastard_, she thought, _what you've done to me is unforgivable. _His breath came even less steadily now and she used all her body weight to crush him against the wall, enjoying how he choked under her. She liked this power over men, this power over her husband, over her life that just hours ago, he had ruled for her.

"No one crosses me, you double-faced liar. You good for nothing son of a bitch, you're no better than the ground I step on!" Her voice began to rise in pitch and volume as she said, "You call me a whore? I can't _believe_ you actually thought I'd let you go on thinking about that _whore_ of a sister of mine! Did you really think I would figure it out? Huh?"

She forced the blade deep into his chest and he sputtered in agony. She twisted the knife, grinning sickly at how he began to double over. But she wouldn't allow it. He coughed and hacked, and she felt blood on her face, but she focused on keeping him upright.

She hissed in his ear, "You were never special enough to be mine," and she pulled the knife out.

She backed away from him and he fell to his face at her feet. She exited the cell and called, "Guard, _guard_!"

The shaken man from earlier approached her. His face was practically to the floor, he seemed so submissive. "Off with his head!" and she pointed, almost nonchalantly, to her husband.

"But Your Majesty!" he gaped. "The _King?_"

"The _King_," she said the word like a curse, "Is a traitor to his country and fellow men. I don't want _scum_ like him to ruin our good kingdom." She gave him a dangerous smile. "Is that clear?"

"Y-y-yes Your Majesty! Whatever you say, Your Majesty!" He hustled into the cell and pulled the King out. "Come with me Your---"

Iracebeth gave him a pointed look.

"Scum!" he said with considerably less gusto. He seemed concerned, almost begging as he said, "Your Majesty, the earliest execution is not until tomorrow at dawn." Her heart blackened as she realized his pity for her husband.

"Go NOW!" she shrieked. She didn't want to be in her husband's presence anymore. The anger was fading again.

The guard nodded his head frantically before scuffling away in a panic. The two hobbled away unsteadily, but Iracebeth took comfort in knowing that the deed would be done. Her husband would pay for his crimes against her. Pay for the pain, the joy, and the love he'd brought into her life. She saw him differently now and she realized that he was never really special enough to be called hers.

She was casually sorry that the whole thing had to end like this, and then she forgot.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** A continuation of the previous chapter, this one is a bit disturbing. However, I found it extremely touching and hope it conveys the right kind of emotion---cruel justice, but justice nonetheless. It is certainly a turning point in Iracebeth's life. Enjoy!

-

That night, Iracebeth stood out on her balcony, trying to enjoy the pleasant weather. The night was cool and refreshing, but pleasure was beyond her. She stood there regal and proud, but inside, her heart ached with sadness. Now, she was sorry she had killed him.

She never wanted him to see who she truly was; the selfish person she could be. He always knew of her jealousness and envy, but for him to see how much she loved him, and how much he could hurt her by loving Mirana instead was something she couldn't live with. She had killed him out of love, she tried to convince herself.

She wrapped her arms tightly about herself and thought about the personal wounds she had inflicted upon the man she had once so loved. Normally, she left the torturing to her peers, to Stayne, who was so efficient. He had an unparalleled ability to make people suffer and talk. But this was too personal a blow to be dealt with by anyone but herself.

She was so confused.

She was legitimately angry at her husband, that much she knew. But she still had incredible fondness for him and was sorry that it had come to this. Maybe he didn't deserve to die. Maybe she didn't deserve to live. It was a funny feeling of complete imbalance she felt now. A complete removal from reality, and she longed for something else.

Walking on a tightrope when it came to her emotions, Iracebeth almost turned to call for her husband to confide in, and then she realized.

She felt her eyes blurring against her will and she tried to force back the burning sensation. Within a quick moment, the regal and proud mask shattered completely and her chest constricted with her pain. In that single moment, she had never longed for the presence of her husband as much as she did then. He had been her entire world!

She couldn't believe that in a moment of fantasy, she had forgotten what she had done. She wanted that so badly and yet knew it could never be hers. She had done something that could never be undone. Tears slipped down her cheeks and she tried to quell the sick feeling in her stomach as she clenched it tightly. Be strong, she told herself, because if no one fought for her, then who would?

She was such a fool! How could she have done such a horrible thing? She felt herself now physically losing her balance and she walked over to the balcony ledge, desperately needing it's support. She should have forgiven him, even for the greatest deed he had done against her. The tears came more quickly now until she settled back against the balcony banister, trying to recompose herself.

What had she done? Maybe she deserved it–maybe the death of the only person she had ever truly loved was what she had earned for taking away countless lives, and destroying the people that had cared for those countless lives.

She should have known that she would only be casually angry–and then she would forget.

She had forgiven her husband for many transgressions in the past. They had learned what was acceptable between them and what was not, and she had taken advantage of the openness he had had with her. To think of him in the past tense was almost too much, but she had to be strong. She had to regain her self-confidence, to make right the greatest wrong.

It would be the greatest deception she had ever dealt anyone, never mind herself. But the ache in her heart was too much to go on believing what she did.

She stood on shaky feet and leaned over the balcony ledge, her eyes closed against the world. She could fight this, overcome this, learn to hide her most obvious fault and the most terrible thing she had ever done. No one would ever speak of the acts against her husband... Only the rabble would, but in far away streets that could do her no harm.

She opened her eyes and stared into the petrified eyes of her husband.

She heard screaming, like it was far away. She realized it was her own. She fell back from the balcony in horror, but the damage was done. The image in her mind, burned there forever–––

She felt rushing footsteps, but all she could see were those wide brown eyes staring up at her. The face that asked her, _why did you do this to me? I loved you so much._ And he had! Why had she done it, why had she betrayed him!

Her voice was growing hoarse with her shrieks, but she couldn't stop. That mouth she had once kissed so tenderly, opened wide in shock and pain.

I did that to him, she said to herself. I made him that way. I killed him. I killed him. "I killed him!" she screamed in agony to the open air, feeling as though her heart were being ripped out.

"Iracebeth!" she heard a voice behind her. But she didn't bother to turn. She wanted to fling herself off the balcony edge, wanted to kill herself. What had she done? Those eyes, staring up at her, never forgiving and only accusing–––_you killed me, you killed me. Why Iracebeth, why did you kill me?_

She must have seemed half mad then, as she yelled out to him, "I'm sorry!"

She ran for the balcony edge, but strong arms reached around her waist and held her still. She thrashed and kicked, but it was no use. "Shh, shhh, my Queen," she heard in her ear, but it wasn't right. Her mind distorted the voice, made it her husband's. It didn't comfort her, it blamed her. Everything was just so wrong in that moment that the fight went out of her. _Why did I kill you, my love?_

"Majesty, stop yelling. Calm down."

She realized then that she was still screaming. Words, were they even words anymore? She tried to take deep calming breaths, but the attempt was interrupted by sobs anew. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face, that face that was so unlike him but what she had done to him–––

"Stayne!" she croaked in broken cry.

He settled down to her height and wrapped his arms around her. It wasn't right, but at the moment it was all she had. Stayne sent the other guards away and Iracebeth weeped openly into his chest. He was undeniably there, but her life still felt like a dream.

And that face–––_you killed me. Why, Iracebeth? I loved you so much. _

She sobbed harder.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** A continuation of previous events, although this is from Stayne's point of view. I find Stayne tougher to write because he's not quite as crazy as Iracebeth, so the balance is actually harder for me to find. I don't think he's totally nuts or heartless, and yet I understand he must be ruthless in order to serve Iracebeth.

I hoped to convey through this chapter that right now, his kindnesses are done out of necessity or loyalty, not out of love or a weakness in his heart for Iracebeth. Stayne, at this point, is also just interested in maintaining what's best for him, which doesn't include smooching with our lovely, unpredictable queen.

-

He had spent a long night comforting his Queen, and his head ached and pounded.

It had taken hours to calm her, and even now, Stayne doubted she would rest comfortably. He was loathe to stay here when it so clearly wasn't his place, but it was also clear that that Iracebeth needed _someone_ there to care for her.

He had made many years ago a promise, a vow, to provide her with his service, whatever she seemed to need. And now she needed him.

It came as no great surprise to him that the Queen was just realizing her mistake–––and the enormity of it. She had the horrible habit of overreacting and never apologizing, taking for granted the purchased patience around her, and now, the habit had taken from her what was perhaps her greatest gift.

She was a shrewd woman if nothing else, but even Stayne felt some pity in his heart for her. Walking out to her balcony, he stood in the darkened night, illuminated by the moon.

The night air always made him contemplative; of his place in his life, his role in the castle, and when his own needs might outweigh the Queen's. Yes, right now, his fate, his destiny, kept him here. But there would be a time, he felt, when he would not be chained to Iracebeth's side, a time when he could achieve his own identity.

He shook his head. Now was not the time for such thoughts. He glanced over the balcony edge, steeling his stomach against the morbidity of the image below. The floating heads all stared back, and he realized what might have shaken the Queen. It was a chilling thought indeed, and he shook his head. _A nightly execution_, he thought with a frown. _Why?_

But it quickly occurred to him 'why' indeed. _The humiliation would have been too great. There's no telling what the motive could have been_.

Recoiling slightly, Stayne shook his head again. If she could kill a lover, a husband of many years, there was no saying what was meant for the future of Underland. Here in the castle, it was like living in an entirely different world, they were so separated from the rabble mob. Stayne had grown used to not caring, to seeing only what he wanted to see.

It was a damn shame, it was, that things had to end like this. The King was nothing if not an honorable man, and a good man, and a proud man. A memory came back to him suddenly of a time when he was much younger, serving the King and Queen; a time when he still had both eyes. Subconsciously, his hand went to prod at the old wound, but he stopped himself quickly before his thoughts grew too morose.

The King had offered him ample comfort and confidence in a time when he was scared of the Red Queen. Even now, distant from her as he was, he knew her weaknesses almost better than any other, and could see through the mask of cold, regal pride.

And yet, despite his lot in life and in love, the King never seemed discontented at what he had. He was the balancing figure to Iracebeth's heart of ice. Stayne wondered what would happen to the people now that no such counterbalance existed. For all his training and practice, he winced at the imagined bloodshed.

Stayne made himself acknowledge that the loss of the King was probably clouding his judgment and making him think such strange thoughts. He was hardly a sentimental man, and although he felt no need for tears or even a twinge in his gut, he knew he was sorry about it.

It took a cold heart and an ignorant mind to serve the Red Queen, and he had conditioned himself not to see what he did not want to see. He could will away his own pain, his own anger, any emotion that he desired not to have. But sometimes, at times like this when he grew nostalgic, the emotions broke through anyway. He hated them and how overwhelming they were, how he never knew quite how to deal with them.

He looked back into the room where the Queen slept fitfully, her form shaking in the low light. He couldn't help but wonder if the Queen had truly loved her husband–––or if she was even capable of love in the first place. What a strange thought!

He turned accusing eyes to the moon, but his mind didn't turn away from the reverie.

It seemed like such a self-centered woman would have banished such weak emotions, but Stayne had often thought that very same thing about himself. It was a chilling comparison that made his hands shake behind his back.

He wondered if now, he would see even more of the Queen then she had revealed to him thus far. When she had ordered him to take her husband away, there was a certain amount of vulnerability that was new. Somewhere in the back of his mind he called that look exciting, but he shook the thought off as alien and unfitting.

He would always be subservient to the Queen, even if she came to rely on him heavily. He had to learn to accept that.

He heard the Queen shuffling in bed behind him, and throwing the covers off of herself. Just as the sheets tangled, his Queen was caught in a nightmare she couldn't escape, even if she were to awake.

He went to her and watched her face contort, trying not to enjoy her suffering as she had enjoyed his own in another time. He bowed his head and took a deep breath because her emotions were still too much for him to handle. His _own_ emotions were too much for him to handle.

_What have you gotten yourself into, Ilosovic? _He'd asked himself the question countless times over the years.

He knelt before the Queen and shook her gently awake. Her startled eyes looked up at him in fear and loathing, but he knew the loathing was more self-directed.

"Stayne!" she whispered in anguish, pulling her sheets up to cover herself self-consciously.

Stayne thought sadly, _What you are ashamed of cannot be hidden, my Queen._

He wiped a tear from her cheek not because he felt for her, or because he pitied her, but because she needed him to do so. She held his hand and then threw it away, disgusted at her weaknesses and how her hand trembled next to the steadiness of his. Her dark brown eyes were clear in the night and he saw her conflict as if it were a bandersnatch in the room.

"No one will ever know, my Queen," he said in a low, comforting voice.

Her smaller hands took his own back and fiddled anxiously. Tears welled up in her eyes again and clung dramatically to her lashes. It was the oddest thing to think, but in that one moment, Stayne thought she looked like the picture of humanity. _How ironic._

She tried to speak several times, but the words just wouldn't come to her. Her hair fell down by her face and hid her expression, like a reflection of her own heart, always hiding.

"I'm so _ashamed_!" she cried finally with deep emotion. He was almost touched, but then he stopped himself.

He wanted to rip the sheet away from her, wanted to strip her of her protective barriers and make her see what she had done, how she had ruined everything. He wanted to teach her a lesson, to make her realize the error of her ways and how this was her punishment for what she had done to so many others. His hands itched to do something, to reveal the truth that couldn't be hidden, but reality wasn't what his Queen needed.

His Queen needed a fantasy–––a new unreality to replace the one that had been destroyed.

"I know, my Queen, I know."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** It's been a while, folks, and for that, I apologize. I've been thinking about where to go next with this story. Despite all your glorious reviews, I'm still hesitant on how I'm writing both these characters, so please be patient. Within the next few days, I plan to have another oneshot up, this time Alice/Stayne. Any interest?

Anyhow, this is a powerful chapter. Iracebeth does what some of you might consider unlikely, or even impossible---she asks for help. But I worked hard to make sure that she did it in a dignified manner. Enjoy!

-

The next morning, Iracebeth forced herself awake. Her eyelids felt like lead as she tried to open them, but she felt suddenly like there was something she had to face.

As she sat up in bed, she glanced around the room and saw the slumped form of the Knave of Hearts, sitting tiredly in a chair across the room. Chair tilted towards her, Iracebeth felt oddly touched that the man had stayed with her, even if it was only for a few moments. _Odd_, she thought. _He isn't usually so... so..._

She couldn't think of the word, so she pushed the thought away.

Suddenly, the day's events flooded back to her and the air left her lungs. _That_ was why he had stayed, because she had done such a horrible thing. No, she told herself. _You won't break down like this, not in front of him. You had your moment, and now it's over, and now you need to be strong_.

She desperately worked to collect herself, or at least collect her face, before Stayne awoke. The memories all came back to her so quickly and were so overwhelming––but it seemed for naught as she heard the Knave's drowsy voice, "My Queen?"

She closed her eyes and gestured him away. "Out!" she shrieked, because she couldn't allow him to see her like this. Obediently he went, and Iracebeth went about making herself decent for work. Duties as Queen always continued steadily, even if the Queen herself could do little else but sputter pitifully along.

She met Stayne and her other courtiers in the throne room, but it had taken her at least twenty minutes longer to get ready than usual. Iracebeth had spent a long time looking at her reflection in the mirror and studying what made her who she was. She wasn't usually so philosophical, but recent events had changed her.

She had straightened her collar, fixed her hair, fluttered her eyelashes, and pursed her lips at least a dozen times each before she left to meet everyone else. Because of what she had done, because it tainted her on the inside, she was particularly determined to look perfect on the outside.

The facade of anger was harder to manage than she had anticipated.

Her horrible deed still loomed threateningly over her thoughts, but she was determined to obtain some type of normalcy in the face of adversity. That was what made her such a good Queen.

As she entered the throne room, her courtiers looked at her expectantly, confusedly, all with a million different expressions and a hundred million questions that none of them would ever ask. She scowled at each and every one of them, except for Stayne, who she gave a nearly imperceptible nod to. A nod was all it took, and she was forgiven.

"I need a pig here!" she yelled to the expansive room, and it was brought to her. She rested her feet and called for entertainment, amusement, anything to keep her mind off of things.

For a while, Iracebeth was content enough to lie to herself. If she closed her eyes and focused her thoughts elsewhere, things almost seemed well enough to continue on uninterrupted. But then she would open her eyes and see the empty seat beside her, and her anger and disgust would boil just beneath the surface.

Lady Long Ears spoke to her excitedly (although with disdain) about the peasants and the prisoners. Voices swarmed around her, but she found her thoughts and eyes alike both drifting. She knew that she contributed to conversation, but she had no idea what she was saying to anyone.

"Did you hear what the peasants have been saying about the _King_?" she heard distinctly.

She jumped up in her seat and glanced at Stayne and then asked surreptitiously, "What have they been saying?"

"They've been saying that he left you! How ridiculous!"

Something inside her shattered and snapped. She was certain there was a tangible expression of agony on her face, so horrible that even she couldn't hide it. What a horrible rumor, but only so horrible because it was almost true. She caught her breath and shook her head.

"I would have never allowed it," Iracebeth said with her last shred of composure slipping through her fingers like sand.

"Well of course not!" Chortles of laughter met her ears, and finally she lost it.

"Go away!" she said tersely, but like always, no one seemed to understand. She felt her fiery temper burning like acid in stomach, and she spit it out in acid words. "You bumbling idiots! Get out, get out, get _out! _Off with your heads, the _lot_ of you!"

Everyone was startled, and then their minds caught up with them. "My Queen?" one soul ventured bravely.

"Out, before I have you all tortured and killed! Uglification, and then death! _Out!_" Her voice was so high with her fury it was unnatural sounding. Iracebeth put her aching head down in her hands as the satisfying sound of feet, scurrying away, met her ears. When she was certain she was alone, she sighed heavily and rubbed anxiously at her face, further destroying the mask she had created.

She stood and was about to leave when she heard one last inquiry. "Your Majesty?"

_Stayne_. She closed her eyes at the pain he caused her now, his loyalty as strange and unnerving as it was comforting and soothing.

"You can stay, but I will go," she said, walking away from him. She didn't hear him following her, and she felt better, less cramped, less trapped and less judged for it.

"They are fools, every one of them," Stayne offered. He was trying to make her feel better, and it was almost working. Her rage was lessening–––she could actually feel the heat leaving her face–––but at the same time, it wasn't good enough. Her husband could have diminished her anger completely with only a quick swipe of his loving hand...

_It doesn't matter,_ she told herself. _He isn't here anymore._ Iracebeth sighed and stopped walking for a moment. She looked over her shoulder and saw Stayne standing at attention, his face a mixture of concern and stoicism. A strange combination, but it fit him perfectly. _This is what is left,_ she told herself, not sure how she felt about the whole thing.

She sighed heavily and looked away. "It takes a stronger woman than I to admit that I need someone, Stayne."

The words came out as practically a whisper, but she didn't wait to see if he had heard her because emotion was overwhelming her again. _He's all that's left, so work with it._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I apologize for the long wait on this chapter. Inspiration comes and goes with me, as I suppose it does for all authors. This does continue right after the last chapter, although it's been months since I've updated. I would recommend reading the last chapter over again, just to get a good feel for the mood here. Iracebeth's attitude here foreshadows some future problems she'll have that I look forward to writing. Enjoy!

The rest of the day passed uneventfully in the castle, but Stayne knew that a change was taking place. A revolution within the Queen's mind that he could see even as the Queen was rooms away.

The next day, she called for the clearing of the prison cells. He had spent a long time thinking on Iracebeth's words–––her shocking admission that might change everything between them or perhaps change nothing at all. It was not like her to ask for help, and the admission of weakness was shocking.

However, this day could change everything.

So he played it by ear, only crossed bridges as he came to them. He walked down the hall with his Queen at his side, as arrogant looking (perhaps even a bit more so) than usual. He knew why she was doing this, why she wanted to watch these countless executions.

He thought ruefully, _Will this really make you feel strong, my Queen?_ And he knew that in her heart, she believed it would. If she could be ruthless, cold, if she could banish those unforgettable fourteen words she had said to him the day before, it would be like she was born anew.

But it would not change things. If anything, Stayne walked with the Queen, tremendous doubt in his mind. The Queen was a strong woman in some ways, but in others, she was so weak and fragile. Sometimes, Stayne was left with such a sick feeling of anger, knowing that he could break her at any moment, but never would. That was the strange thing about the Queen: in her own way, she could be charismatic.

However, she could not be as heartless as she wanted to be, and this event would only further accentuate her anomalous behavior in front of the courtiers. That much he knew. Each head that rolled, each death would only bring back more unpleasant memories of the deeds past. Stayne could scarcely believe that the King had only been dead two days.

It seemed like that had all happened years ago.

_Is this how you feel, my Majesty? Like it has been years? Years of torment and pain and suffering that you cannot escape?_He didn't know why he enjoyed the words so thoroughly, but he did. _Is this horror I feel for the future anything like the horror you feel, my Queen?_

He looked at her at his side and caught her in a moment of reflection. She stared down at her feet, her hands trembling at her sides. He ghosted his own hand over her shoulder in a subtle display of comfort. She looked up at him, surprised but grateful, recomposing herself.

He knew Iracebeth could be strong for some while. It would take twenty, perhaps thirty, before the strain of the fantasy would break Iracebeth again. All the while as he knew this in his heart, he said nothing, supporting his Queen completely.

And so his Queen sat on her balcony, he at her side like always. The hot sun beat down on them, oppressive and horrible, but not as horrible as what came from within.

"Begin!" the Queen cried in her shrill voice. Stayne noted a hint of excitement, but nervous excitement.

And so it began, each beheading making the illusion of normalcy more elaborate than it was before it. Around Iracebeth, her courtiers murmured their approval of her actions, each interjecting a supportive word after each man fell to his knees, his blood staining the dull knife of the guillotine.

They didn't die easily or painlessly. As Stayne watched these goings-on, he also watched his Queen, carefully surveying for cracks in the enthusiastic mask. And they would come, and he would take her away back to her unreality, and steal the moment and savor it at a later time. He would watch her fall and take comfort in it, all the while lifting her back up.

And the moment did come. Head number twenty-five had a striking resemblance to the king, but it was at that moment when he heard the Queen gasp and felt her jump a little, that it wasn't the resemblance that had done it. Undoubtedly, for her, every head had been the head of her husband, and this one had simply pushed her over the edge.

He was here to read her nonverbal clues and overtime he had learned to do it well. Her breath came now in short, shocked gasps, and so he shouted, "Cease! The Queen is fatigued."

And the motions did stop. The remaining prisoners either counted their blessings or cursed their bad luck. Servants came out to pick up the disembodied heads to throw in the moat, and Stayne placed a hand on his Queen's back, ready to urge her away from this now-awful place. With a quick glance at her face, he knew that she was but a few moments from madness.

He could see that she needed help. _A stronger woman, indeed._

He gave her a somewhat forceful pat and it jolted her enough to stand. He pushed away the bumbling courtiers who mumbled well-wishes and praise. "The Queen must rest!" he said, resorting to violence if he had to. Anything to get her away from these people, and those heads. Every head, the head of her husband.

She kept tripping over her gown as she practically ran back to her room. He opened the door for her and gestured her inside, where her breathing became even more labored than before. _She is in pain, _he realized, _perhaps for the first time in her life. _

"Oh _God!_" she gasped, on the verge of a panic. "Oh God, oh God, oh God!"

She sat on her vanity and stared at her face, as though she didn't recognize the woman staring back at her. She began to pull at her face, clawing at the porcelain flesh there. Stayne hurried behind her and stole her hands before she could do anymore damage, murmuring gently, "The mask must stay in place, Your Highness."

She stopped then, but her breathing didn't ease. He wasn't her husband, and that was a terrible thing. When he saw that his presence alone could not slow her rapidly beating heart, he ripped at her dress and loosened her corset, leaving her bare and exposed to him.

"Oh God," she said again, this time more softly.

His hands caressed the bony shoulders, trying to somehow physically restore heat to a cold heart.

"Oh God," she said one last time, as a lone tear slipped down her cheek. He left her then to stare at herself, to restore herself to her former greatness, to convince herself of a lie, to do whatever she needed to do that she couldn't within his presence.

He couldn't help but think, _God can't help you now, My Queen._


End file.
